


The Man Who Watches

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 20-something, AU, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Concerts, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Miscommunication, Sherlock Steps Out of Comfort Zone, Solitary Sherlock, Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 03:36:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14824524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: Sherlock and John are both getting ready to start new chapters in their lives when a chance meeting shows Sherlock that perhaps he doesn’t always have to be on his own.





	1. They Meet

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got quite a few stories, and we invite you to get lost in them. **To keep up with our new stories, please subscribe.**
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside. If you've got any story ideas, please leave them in the comments. We've slowed down a little, but we haven't quit so always welcome new ideas. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and for being a great community!

Sherlock’s phone vibrated.

_Have a possible assignment. You interested? GL_

_Yes. SH_

_We’re looking for a dealer. His girlfriend will be out tonight -- we need a young person to blend in to let us know if he shows. GL_

_Time and place. SH_

Lestrade sent an address and two photos. Sherlock would be going to a bar, but it didn’t matter if he blended in or not. He’d find this criminal and soon Lestrade would be calling him for regular jobs and things would be better in his life. He glanced at the clock. The show didn’t start until 10, so he went into his bedroom to lie down for a while.

John got out of the shower and saw his phone screen was lit up. He checked his messages and saw an address and a band name. He didn't know the band, but he'd been to the bar before. He was glad about that -- knowing the layout of the place ahead of time helped him keep a low profile. He threw some gel in his hair and ran his hands through it before getting dressed. Dark jeans, a t-shirt, and his jacket. He made sure his wallet and phone were in his pocket before grabbing his keys. He let his friend know he was on his way and went out to hail a cab.

Sherlock rolled over and checked his phone, getting up and getting ready to head out. He didn’t change his clothes -- he didn’t care. He wasn’t there to see the band or meet friends. He would just be watching for the dealer. He set out to walk to the bar which wasn’t too far from the flat. The night air was cool, and he enjoyed a cigarette on his walk.

When he got there, the place was already quite busy. He got a drink and then found a place to stand near the back where he could see everyone. He looked for the girlfriend and found her near the front. She was standing with a group of women, though -- no boyfriend in sight. He wanted another cigarette, but didn’t want to lose sight of her.

John found a good spot near the front, a bit secluded from the rest of the people filling the bar. He never knew how full the shows would be so he liked grabbing his spot early. He liked watching people, liked watching how they reacted to the shows. While his friend promoted the band's image to try and get them gigs, John offered information on how the crowds reacted to them. Door sales helped with that, of course, but a lot of people might come just to drink. John listened to gossip and rants, watched people dance and sing, and helped steer his friend to places that bands would be the best received. He looked around and decided to get himself another drink. He walked up to the bar and waited for the bartender, glancing at a tall, ginger man who was not shy about staring back at him. John ignored him.

Sherlock watched the interaction between the two men at the bar. There was something about one of them that registered -- where had he seen him before? Suddenly Sherlock realised he was being stupid. He was here to see the face of a criminal, not some random guy. As soon as he found the dealer, he could leave. There was no reason to be distracted by just because someone had a handsome face. Other people were not Sherlock’s department.

When John finally got his drink he took a sip before turning toward the man staring at him. He glanced just for a moment before wandering off again to his spot near the front. He was about to take another sip again when someone spoke to him.

"Hey."

John looked over. It was the guy from the bar. "Hi."

"Are you a fan?"

"I'm not sure yet -- sorry, I'm working so I can't chat," John said. He took his glass and weaved through the crowd to find a different place to stand. Sometimes he didn't mind flirting and hooking up but tonight he wasn't feeling it. He just wanted to watch the show, help his friend, and go home.

Sherlock smiled as he watched the tall, ginger man get rejected. Maybe that was cruel, but he kind of enjoyed seeing it. He told himself that he didn’t understand that need, that desire, and he was better off than those who sought that kind of attention. He took his drink and moved over to a better position to be able to see the whole place. He checked the girlfriend, but the man he was looking for still hadn’t arrived.

John was sipping his drink as the opening band came on. The lights dimmed, and he settled into his new spot before he felt someone standing too close to him. He glanced over and saw the man again, smiling at him.

"My name is Sean," the man said. He stuck his hand out, moving a bit closer.

John looked at his hand and then his face again. "Sorry, I'm still working," he said.

"That's okay. We're only chatting."

"I need to focus so I can't." John went to move around him, but the guy blocked his path a bit. John tilted his head and sighed. "I'm taken anyway. I need to go."

"I don't think you are," Sean said.

John took a deep breath. He really didn't want to fight tonight. He looked around and saw a tall, handsome man standing close to him. He grabbed the man's arm and tugged him close. "This is my boyfriend. I told you, I'm taken. Right, babe?" He looked up at the man with a knowing look, hoping he would play along.

Suddenly, Sherlock’s arm was being pulled -- it was the handsome man who was calling him a pet name. “Sorry?” he asked.

John leaned closer trying to pretend the confusion was because of the noise. "I was just telling Sean to leave me alone because I'm taken," he repeated. "He didn't believe me."

Sherlock looked over at the tall man then smiled smugly. “Believe him,” he said. He pulled the handsome man close, slipping his arm around his back.

"You're working but you brought your boyfriend?" Sean asked skeptically.

John shrugged. "He enjoys the benefits of my work by watching the band while I do my work. You should go now. I'm not interested . . . obviously." He looked up at the man with a wide, happy smile.

"Whatever." Sean slinked off into the crowd, still mumbling inaudibly.

John pulled his hand back and took a step to the side. "Thanks a lot, you really helped me out."

Sherlock moved away a little, saying nothing. Then for some reason, he turned back. “And how much do you intend to pay me for the favour?” he asked.

"Oh. Um, I guess I could get you a drink or something," John said.

“My fees are higher than that,” Sherlock said.

"Couldn't it just be a favour?" John asked, smiling up at the man.

Sherlock glanced over at the girlfriend who was still alone. He turned back and said, “I don’t think so. I’m working -- you took me away from my job. That’s money out of my pocket. You understand -- you said you’re working as well, right?”

John was starting to regret grabbing this guy out of the crowd. "Look, I don't have a ton of cash on me and I don't think I should pay you for just . . . standing next to me," he said.

“Is that really all I did?” he looked around. “Many people are standing next to you, but you chose me.”

"You were closest," he said. “I’m beginning to regret choosing you.”

“That seems cruel.”

"I'm sorry, I appreciate your help but I don't appreciate you trying to hassle me about it. I didn't mean to inconvenience you, I'm just going to get back to work."

“All right then,” Sherlock said. He wasn’t sure why he was even talking to this guy, let alone acting this way. All he’d wanted to do was get in Lestrade’s good books, but now he was interacting and probably making a fool of himself like he had in the past.

"Great, see you around," John said. He moved into the crowd again to find a new spot. The main band was already playing, and he wanted to just focus on what he was there to do.

Sherlock watched him walk off. He looked up and noticed that somehow another band had started playing -- he hadn’t even noticed a change in the music. He looked round but the man who’d grabbed him was gone. So was the tall, ginger man. He looked up to the front -- so was the girlfriend. Sherlock turned and left.

John tried to focus around him and listen to people talking. They were having a good time, but it wasn't the most enthusiastic crowd he'd ever seen. He got distracted more than he liked, looking around the bar for the handsome but annoying man he'd been talking to but didn't see him anywhere. Maybe he left. _Good riddance_ , John thought to himself. Of all the people to grab, he got one that tried to bribe him. He was pretty hot, though. John wouldn't have minded if he had agreed to a drink. But maybe this was for the best. He did have a job to do after all.

Almost two hours later he was leaving the club. He had mingled a bit, struck up some conversations, and got some feedback about the bands. As he walked he texted his friend what he had heard and seen in the crowd, as well as his own opinion of the band. When he sent it all he hailed a cab to get back to his flat. He never knew when his friend would call him up again so he needed to get some rest so he wasn’t too tired tomorrow to do his studying. 

Sherlock got back to the flat and turned on the kettle. However, before it boiled, he turned it off instead and poured himself a small glass of wine. He felt irritated for some reason, probably because he’d failed Lestrade. A little wine might not resolve the irritation, but it couldn’t hurt.

He turned on the television and flipped through the channels. On one, a band was playing and he stopped, wondering if it had been the band tonight. Doubtful really, plus he didn’t really remember a single thing about the band -- what they looked or sounded like. He was too focused on watching for the woman’s boyfriend.

Except that wasn’t exactly true. Maybe it wasn’t just his assignment that was causing this irritation; it was the interaction with the short man that had thrown him off. Why? He didn’t know and he was embarrassed by it. He was best here at the flat by himself. He turned off the television, took a sip of wine, turned to lie down on the sofa, and closed his eyes.

John undressed and climbed right into bed as soon as he got home. When he was comfortable and starting to doze off, he remembered his research. He sighed and didn't move -- he was too comfortable now. He would deal with it in the morning. He fell asleep and had weird dreams -- he didn't remember them in the morning but when he woke up he was all twisted up in his bed sheets. He untangled himself and stretched before getting up to start his day.


	2. They Don't Meet Again

Sherlock, too, had dreams. He was in a crowd, facing away from whatever everyone else was looking at. Way at the back was the man who had grabbed his arm at the bar. He was mouthing something, but Sherlock couldn’t understand. He tried to push through people to get to him, to find out what he was trying to tell him, but he couldn’t locate him.

He woke with a start. The room was bright with the morning sun. He was on the sofa, and his back hurt. He pushed himself up and stretched. He didn’t quite feel rested -- he wasn’t sure if the dream meant something or if it was just a reminder of his awkwardness.

After a shower, he headed out, got a newspaper and read it in a coffee shop before going for a wander. He could handle being around people when he knew there was no chance of interacting with them. When he realised he was about an hour’s walk away from home, he decided to text Lestrade for an update, hoping he’d have another task to keep Sherlock busy until a proper case came along. He did his best to sound eager without sounding stupid, not sure he’d succeeded at either. He got no reply so he headed home.

John sat at his desk and worked on the computer for a long time, taking notes for the paper he had to write. Forty pages on an advanced medical procedure and the effect of it on society. He hated writing papers, but he was so close to the end of school and to the start of a residency that he tried to ignore his annoyance about it. Four hours later he had to break for more food. His friend had texted for another job, and John accepted eagerly. After staring at the computer for the last few hours, he was ready to get out into the real world for something fun. He didn't know the band playing, but he didn't mind. That made it easier to do the job his friend needed him to do since he didn't go in with his own biases. As he was getting ready he wondered if that rude man was going to be there again. He didn't know why he thought of him all of a sudden. He imagined that the night would be more interesting if he showed up again. 

Sherlock spent the rest of the afternoon sending out emails, trying to drum up some business. He refused to contact his brother, though. He was going to do this on his own. By the time it was getting dark, nothing had materialised. He got a glass of wine and opened the window to have a cigarette. 

He stared down at the street and the people walking on it. Some were talking or laughing; most were walking in pairs. He looked to see if any were arguing, but they didn’t seem to be. They probably would be before the evening was over. He was safe here in the flat -- no one talking or laughing or regretting choosing him. He finished his glass and carried it to the sink.

And then somehow, he found himself on the street, alone, heading to the bar he’d visited last night. Maybe he was double-checking for the dealer. Maybe he just wanted some air. In truth, he tried not to think about anything about why he was doing this.

John arrived a bit early, got his drink, and picked his spot, just like always. He sat in the tall stool chair and looked around. The place wasn't very crowded, so they weren't off to a good start. John saw his friend moving around the stage, holding an earpiece and murmuring instructions. He looked stressed but completely in his element. John took out his phone to pass the time a bit -- it wasn't long before the band came out. John put his phone away and looked around at the crowd. At first people looked interested, dancing along to the music. But as the second and third songs started, people were losing interest. They started talking amongst themselves, leaving to get drinks with no worry about getting back quickly. Between songs the band tried talking to the crowd and riling them up, but the lead was a bit awkward and his jokes and comments weren't landing -- the laughter leaned toward mockery. John was typing this all up as he was seeing it. He used to feel bad, but he didn't anymore, not now that he knew his friend wasn't affected. He would help the band get some tips and tricks, try them again in a different setting, and eventually he'd find the right fit for them. He was good at his job. 

When the show was over John went to get one more drink before heading out for the night. He sent his report to his friend and thanked him for the night out. He hailed a cab and headed home again. 

Sherlock found this band’s music even more obnoxious, as he stood at the bar trying to get a drink. When he finally got one, he scanned the crowd. He was looking for the handsome man’s face. He didn’t see it, so he shifted position to get a different angle. Still nothing. In fact the more he watched, the more he wondered if he’d even recognize the guy. Was he sure the man in his dream was the man from last night? After an hour or so, he began to wonder why this even mattered. He decided it didn’t and headed home and flopped onto the sofa.

Soon it was dark in the flat. Sherlock called out and sat up sharply. He looked around and then checked the time on his phone. 4.28am. He turned to sit properly on the sofa where he obviously had fallen asleep. He got up to make tea, but decided on coffee instead. Maybe it was boredom, maybe that’s all it was. Since he’d left university, he’d been working busy with research with his brother and then Mycroft had introduced him to DI Lestrade and then Sherlock had done some work for him. He’d liked that -- it was challenging and, more importantly, it was his. His brother really had nothing to do with it. Lestrade has assured him his work was good, but there just wasn’t much for him right now. Sherlock hoped that was true, and that it wouldn’t be long until he trusted enough to work on a proper case.

He took the coffee to the computer and checked him email before reading the newspaper. Skimming the page, he saw a photo of the bar he’d gone to last night. The article said there’d been a fight there at closing time and the police had been called. Sherlock was glad he’d left by then. He didn’t need Lestrade, or Mycroft, thinking he’d been involved in any trouble.

The article mentioned the band’s name, and Sherlock clicked the link. Nothing on the band’s site was interesting, which made sense since their music was far from interesting. No wonder the short man hadn’t shown up. Though in truth, the band that was playing the night they had met hadn’t been very interesting either. 

He got up and moved to open the window before lighting a cigarette. What was going on in his head? Why was he still thinking about some random man with bad taste in music? Then he remembered, the man had said he was working. He hadn’t come as a fan, he’d come for a job.

Sherlock moved quickly back to the computer, opening the webpage for the club. He couldn’t find the man on the staff page for the bar. He found the calendar and located a link to the webpage of the band that was playing that night. No clues there. If he wasn’t working for the band or the bar, what could that guy have been doing there?

Just then his phone vibrated in his pocket.

_I need something from you. See attached. MH_

Sherlock opened a file. A research request. It was better than nothing, he guessed, so he got to work.


	3. They Meet Again

Over the next couple days John spent his days finishing up his paper while going to events for his friend on a few nights. He liked keeping busy like this. The tail end of his medical school was busy enough but it was stressful -- he didn't mind the extra work when he could just go out and relax and people watch for a couple hours. His friend was taking a couple days off to work on things in the office, so John was left looking for something to do with himself. He was thinking about going out, but not to a noisy bar like he did for his friend's work. Tonight he needed somewhere low key and quiet. He took a quick shower and changed his clothes, heading out. 

Sherlock had finished Mycroft’s research by the end of the week. It was challenging and Mycroft had known it, but of course his brother hadn’t offered much praise for getting it down quickly and effectively. He hadn’t expected any, of course. He lit a cigarette as he walked out of Mycroft’s office building. When he got to the corner, he found himself standing in a front of a small pub. He headed in and saw him -- the short man. He was sitting at the bar.

John lifted his glass to signal the bartender for another drink. He took out his phone and flicked away some notifications while he waited. 

Sherlock walked over and sat down next to him. He ordered a whiskey and then sat, staring ahead at all the bottles. “Working tonight?” he asked with turning his head.

John glanced over and blinked. "You," he said, only looking away when the bartender brought his drink. "I'm not, no. Are you?”

“No, I’m not,” Sherlock said. “Why are you here?”

"I'm just out," John shrugged. "Why are you here?"

“I’m just out,” Sherlock said, shrugging as well. “How did you know I’d be here?”

"I didn't. That's not why I'm here," he said. "Did you know I was going to be here? Are you following me?"

“Not really,” Sherlock said lightly before taking a sip of his drink.

"Not really isn't very reassuring when I'm asking if you've been following me," John said. 

“I tried to follow you,” Sherlock said. “I failed. Which is quite embarrassing really as figuring things out is what I do.” He turned his bar stool slightly to face the man. “So you were lying when you said you were working that night?”

"Why were you trying to follow me?" John asked instead of answering. 

“Because,” Sherlock started before he knew exactly what was going to follow. “I have no idea actually.”

John looked over at him and took another sip of his drink. "Well, I'm John. John Watson."

“I’m Sherlock Holmes,” Sherlock said. He held out his hand for John to shake. “Well, we’ve met now so I suppose I’ll get going.” 

"You claim you went to a lot of trouble to find me -- all that just for my name?"

“You’re right,” Sherlock said. “That’d be stupid.” He took another sip. “Are you going to tell me about your work or not?”

"I'm in med school, last year," John said. He tried not to smile. He knew that's not what Sherlock was talking about. 

“And this requires you to go to see shitty bands in local clubs?”

A surprised laugh escaped John’s lips. "No. That's something I do for my friend," he said. 

“What? Flirt with men and then pull someone else in to your little game?” Sherlock asked. “Do you two have some kind of scam going? Because I should tell you that I occasionally work with the police.”

"What? No," John said. "I go to shows and see how people are reacting to the bands he's hired to promote."

“Promotion . . .” Sherlock said. “Hadn’t considered that.” He took a drink. “Well, you won.”

"What did I win?"

“I thought we were racing to see who could confuse the other one first,” Sherlock said.

“You’re confusing me now,” John said. “You said you were working that night -- what were you doing?”

“I was looking for a man,” Sherlock said. 

"Did you find him?"

“No, I did not,” Sherlock said. “Did you find the man you were looking for?”

“I wasn’t looking for a man,” John said.

Sherlock took a drink. “Med school, eh? You’re full of surprises.”

"Do you mean I don't look smart enough?" John teased.

“No, it’s clear you’re smart enough,” Sherlock said. “I suppose I just assumed you were more interested in going out and trying to make red-headed men fall in love you.”

John smiled. "I don't think you win over redheads by grabbing a tall brunette and pretending he's your boyfriend," he said.

“Maybe you were playing hard to get,” Sherlock offered.

"Don't you think that's overkill a bit?" John asked. 

“Overkill is not good for surgeons.”

"No, it’s not," John said with a laugh. "Is bribery good for a detective?"

“As a matter fact, it is,” Sherlock said with a smile. “What are your plans after you finish that drink?”

"I was just going to go back home. Did you have something else in mind?"

“I did. A walk,” Sherlock said. He took a sip. “Perhaps you’d like to join me?”

"Where would we be going?" John asked. 

“Away from here,” Sherlock said. 

"All right,” John said. “Lead the way." 

“Good,” Sherlock said. He tipped the rest of his drink into his mouth and stood up. He directed John down the street as they began to walk. “How long until you’re finished with school?” he asked.

"This is my last year," John said. 

“And then what will you do?”

"My residency. Figure out where I want to specialise. I already know I like surgery."

“Why?”

"It’s exciting, and it’s rewarding," he said. 

“You like excitement?” Sherlock asked.

John nodded. "I do."

“Then you made an excellent choice when you decided I was your boyfriend that night,” Sherlock said with a grin.

"Pretended," John corrected. "But I might be swayed after this date," he smiled. 

“Not a date,” Sherlock said. “A walk.”

"No?" John asked as they walked. 

“I’m not that kind of man,” Sherlock said, glancing over and giving him a wink. He tugged John’s arm lightly to turn them down an alley.

John looked around the alley. "Are you going to murder me?" he teased. 

“I am not,” Sherlock said. “We’re not stopping here, we’re going through.” He kept walking and then glanced over. “Is murder the first thing that comes to mind when you’re in a dark alley?” he asked cheekily.

John smiled. "What's your first thought?" he asked suggestively. 

Sherlock smiled. “Well, it’s probably crime-based as well, if I’m honest,” he said. “However, we’re not staying around long enough for anything like that.” He directed John out onto the next street. “We’re headed over there,” he added, pointing to a path surrounded by trees.

"Hmm. Looks interesting."

“Everything I do is interesting, John Watson,” Sherlock said. He led them down the path to a sculpture of a man. Sherlock sat down at the bench near it. “What do you think?” he asked. “It’s called The Man Who Watches.”

"Somehow I've never seen it before," he said. "It's cool." He sat next to Sherlock and looked around.

“Are you not very good at watching?” Sherlock said.

"Hmm, not always," John admitted. "Are you good at watching?"

“It’s one of my specialties,” Sherlock said. 

"Yeah?" John looked over at him. "So what do you see, watching me?" 

“Despite claiming you have a ‘friend’ who you occasionally ‘work’ for,” Sherlock said. “You strike me as someone who is a little more solitary. Not boring, obviously, I believe you when you say you like excitement. But you seem like someone who prefers fewer close friends than many acquaintances.” He looked over to see if he was right.

"Hmm, I suppose you are pretty good," John agreed. 

“I’m glad I was right,” Sherlock said. “That means I can assume that everything else I’ve deduced about you is true as well,” he added with another cheeky smile. He was surprised how comfortable he felt. Had he finished his drink too quickly?

"Oh? And what else have you deduced?" he asked. 

Sherlock smiled knowingly. “Why did you grab me that night?” he asked. “Pure chance? Would you have grabbed whoever had been standing next to you?” He looked over. “Be honest -- I appreciate honesty more than flattery.”

"To be honest I would have grabbed anyone near me," he admitted. "But then when I saw you I was glad that at least you were handsome. And looked like the opposite of that annoying guy so it would be even more believable that he wasn't my type."

“Clever,” Sherlock said. “And why did you decide to leave with me tonight?”

"Because you're still handsome," he said. "And more interesting and mysterious than I thought. I want to know more."

“All right,” Sherlock said. “Ask me.”

"Why were you looking for men at the bar that night?" he asked. 

“Not men -- a man. The police asked me to locate a known drug dealer and thought he might be at that bar,” Sherlock said. “Your so-called friend isn’t a known drug dealer, is he?”

John laughed. "No, he's not. He's just a PR guy."

“Good. That would’ve been awkward,” Sherlock said. “Any other questions?”

"Do you work with the police a lot?"

"I wish I did," Sherlock said. "Right now it's on occasion. I don't really know how else to get work, I confess."

"Advertise," John suggested. "Unless you don't want private cases."

"What? Buy time on the television?" Sherlock asked. "I don't think so."

"No," John laughed. "Online, like a website or a blog or something."

Sherlock paused for a moment. “Maybe,” he said. “Is that how you got the gig doing that thing for your friend?” he asked.

“No,” John said. “He’s my friend, and he trusts me. I think I’m easy to talk to so I get reactions and give him honest feedback without anyone knowing what I’m doing," he smiled. 

“You are strangely easy to talk to,” Sherlock said. “Do you use your medical expertise to do so or just your charm to get to the truth?”

"Neither," John laughed. "I simply listen."

Sherlock smiled. “What about me? Did you report to your friend that I was enjoying the band?”

"No, because I didn’t ask if you did," he smiled. 

“I didn’t,” Sherlock said. “I don’t enjoy any of that sort of thing really.”

"Well, I've already turned in my report, so that can just stay between us."

Sherlock sat quietly for a minute. “If we hadn’t bumped into each other, what would you have done once you’d finished your drink?” he asked.

"Head back to my flat, have an early night. This is better," he smiled.

“I agree -- early nights are rarely good,” Sherlock said. “Yet . . . this is as far as I’ve planned really. I appreciate I implied danger and excitement, but . . . have you got any ideas that might bring excitement?“

John licked his lips and leaned a bit closer. "Do you want to come back to my flat?"

Sherlock leaned over as well. “Will it be dangerous as well as exciting?” he asked, holding John’s gaze.

"Very exciting," John murmured, leaning a little closer to him. 

Sherlock moved his head toward John’s ear, letting his cheek brush against John’s. “All right,” he said.


	4. They Properly Meet Each Other

John grabbed Sherlock's hand and took off towards the street for a cab.

Sherlock followed, noting the address he gave the driver and filing it away. Then he let the anticipation begin to build inside him. Obviously, it’d been a long time since he’d gone home with anyone, but for whatever reason, he was sure he wanted to do this. 

When they arrived John paid and moved quickly to the door. He let them both in. As soon as the door was locked, he pushed up on his toes and kissed Sherlock's mouth.

The kiss sent a shock of electricity through Sherlock’s body. His hands slipped to John’s back, pulling their bodies close together.

John pressed him into the wall and pressed against him as they kissed, his one hand tangling in Sherlock's hair. 

“I don’t have condoms,” Sherlock mumbled, though as soon as he did he realised his timing was not ideal.

"I do," John murmured, kissing him again before moving further into the flat toward his bedroom. He moved slowly, making sure Sherlock wanted to go. 

“I didn’t expect --” Sherlock started to say. He followed John, glancing around at the sparse decoration. “But I won’t without.” He reached out and held onto John’s waistband.

"I have them," John promised. "Do you want to? We don't have to.” 

“Yes, I want to,” Sherlock said. He lifted his hands and started to unbutton his shirt.

John helped him take it off before pulling off his own shirt.

Sherlock pressed his hands against John’s bare chest, more muscular than he’d expected. He leaned down and kissed his mouth roughly. John returned the kiss just as hard, his hands now working to get Sherlock's trousers open and off. Sherlock followed John’s lead, unzipping John’s jeans and sliding his hand inside. He palmed John’s through his pants as he nipped on his neck. John swore softly, stepping back with a soft groan to push the rest of his clothes to the floor and stepped out of everything. He tugged Sherlock to the bed, climbed on him and kissed him hard again.

Sherlock looked up. John really was handsome. His hand slid to John’s bare back, caressing the muscles there as well. His hips began to rock ever so slightly against the bed as his hand moved lower to grasp John’s arse.

John bucked, so their cocks rubbed together. "What do you like?" he asked, kissing down Sherlock's neck to his chest. 

“To be fucked,” Sherlock said.

John grinned and bit Sherlock's nipple lightly, licking to soothe it as he moved lower. "That's so sexy."

Sherlock moaned at the touch of John's mouth and slipped his hand into John's hair, pulling it lightly. 

John moved to get the lube and a condom from the bedside drawer before getting back to exploring Sherlock's body. He pushed open Sherlock's legs and spilled a bit of lube on him. As he rubbed it in and pushed his finger in slowly, he took Sherlock's cock into his mouth. 

“God,” Sherlock called loudly, his upper body lifting slightly off the bed. “Fuck . . . that’s good.” He glanced down but then closed his eyes, letting the pleasure take him.

John hummed around Sherlock's cock as he started moving -- his head and his finger in sync. Slowly he moved up to two fingers, his cheeks hollowing around the shaft. 

Sherlock moaned softly as he wiped his hand over his face which was damp with sweat. He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. It was painted off white and had one visible crack. He closed his eyes again. “It’s so much . . .” he mumbled.

John pulled off his cock and kissed over Sherlock's hip. He curled his fingers a bit, spreading them to open Sherlock. "You're so sexy," he murmured. 

“Doing my best,” Sherlock mumbled stupidly. “You’re very good at what you’re doing.”

John lifted as he moved up to three fingers. He watched Sherlock, flushed and squirming on the bed. When they moved easier, he took his hand away and put on the condom. He added a bit more lube, leaned over him, and kissed him hard as he pushed in slowly. 

“God,” Sherlock moaned. He reached up and grabbed John’s head with his hands, pulling it down roughly close to his. “Move,” he said, looking straight into John’s eyes.

John started rocking his hips, moaning softly as he moved.

Sherlock slid his hand between their bodies and began stroking himself, slowly, matching John’s movement. Then he said, “Faster.”

John thrust harder, gazing down at Sherlock as he panted with the effort. "You feel incredible."

“You feel . . . good,” Sherlock said, his mind focusing on the pleasure rather than his vocabulary. His hand sped up to match John’s speed. “It’s . . .” he started but couldn’t continue as the words were replaced with small grunts.

John dropped his head, moaning into Sherlock's neck as he moved faster. 

“Kiss my mouth -- I’m going to come,” Sherlock said, lifting his other hand to John’s head.

John moaned as he kissed Sherlock's mouth hard, licking into his mouth. 

Sherlock moved his hand fast and hard on his cock as his body jerked against the mattress with each of John’s thrusts. “Oh god,” he called against John’s mouth as the tension built and then pushed him over the edge.

John felt Sherlock's body squeezing around him, and he let go. He came, groaning Sherlock's name as his body arched in pleasure. 

“Fuck,” Sherlock mumbled. He pressed his lips to John’s neck in a soft kiss. “That was good. And not was I was expecting to do tonight.”

John nodded as he caught his breath. He pulled out and tossed the condom, lying next to Sherlock. "Fantastic."

They lay there catching their breath. “Your flat’s a bit bare,” Sherlock said finally. He glanced over and smiled as he added, “Comfortable bed, though.”

John smiled, leaning over Sherlock to set his alarm for the morning. "Sorry, almost forgot that," he said. "And yeah, I don't have much in here, but I like it."

“Fair enough,” Sherlock said. “I’m glad I stopped into that bar.”

"Me too.” 

Sherlock pushed himself up a bit on the bed. Then he reached down, trying to find his clothes which were at the foot of the bed. He got up quickly and slipped his trousers on.

"Are you leaving?" John asked, pushing up to sit.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, buttoning up his shirt. “You’ve got an early morning, and I’ve got things to do.”

"All right," John said as he pulled his boxers on to walk Sherlock out.

Sherlock slipped his card onto John’s nightstand and then followed John to the door. He gave him a quick kiss and said, “Nice to properly meet you.”

"You too," John said. "I'll see you around, hopefully."

Sherlock nodded. He looked once more at John and then stepped out of the flat to head home.


	5. They Meet Once Again

In the morning John showered and packed up his essay, glancing through it once before he headed out. He was meeting with an advisor to make sure his last and final paper was on track. He was so close to graduating and starting his residency -- he didn't want anything to mess it up. After his meeting he grabbed some lunch and headed back to his flat to make the suggested changes and finish it up. 

Sherlock woke up the next day with his body aching -- for a second he forgot why, but had no regrets when he remembered. He’d enjoyed it. He’d enjoyed spending the evening with John. But that was over -- John was a busy student with a lot of work and Sherlock was . . . well, Sherlock, who should be working as well. When he got himself up and moving, he decided to find some work to do.

He visited Scotland Yard, doing his best to behave properly in front of (almost) everyone he interacted with. Most of them were idiots, of course, but he wanted Lestrade to trust him, to think of him for cases more complex that standing around a bar watching for a drug dealer. Lestrade said he had nothing, but would call when he did. Sherlock hoped that was true.

A day later his brother had a project for him -- not ideal but better than nothing. Perhaps by the time he’d finished that, Lestrade would have got in touch. But he hadn’t. Sherlock didn’t know what else to do, how to find something to keep him challenged. That’s what he wanted, that’s what he was good at -- why was it so difficult to find someone who needed the skills he had to offer?

He was clicking through newspapers online when he remembered John Watson suggesting that he set up a website. Would that help? Sherlock didn’t know, but after a little investigation of options, he started one. It kept him busy for a while and, though he probably wouldn’t have admitted it, he quite enjoyed putting it together. Whether or not it’d be worth it, he’d have to wait and see.

John was sitting at his desk, looking through his essay and marking where he'd be editing and making changes when his phone finally buzzed. It was his friend with a new job. John was eager for a break. He accepted and quickly got ready. 

He headed out and got a cab to the club. It was very crowded, and John could hear music out on the sidewalk. It wasn't the band he was here to watch, so he stayed out on the sidewalk enjoying the fresh air before he had to go inside.

In a few hours, Sherlock had had some visitors the website. But no queries for work. He wasn’t sure what was wrong. He wished now that he had asked for John’s number. Maybe he’d have some suggestions.

He found the website of the band from the first night and found their PR person’s name. Then he checked it against the second band. And then he went to the PR’s website, finding a list of all the bands they promoted. Then he tried to find one that was playing nearby. He got dressed and headed out.

He stepped into the bar which was already louder and more busy than he wanted it to be. He looked around and found John almost immediately. He moved through the crowd and stood behind John. That was the moment he realised he really wasn’t sure what he was going to say, how he was going to explain how or why he’d gone to so much trouble to find him.

John realised he wanted a drink, which would allow him to listen to chatter as he made his way to the bar. He turned and bumped into someone standing too close. 

"Sorry-- uh, Sherlock?" he asked. He looked up at the man. "What are you doing here?"

“I came here to watch the band,” Sherlock lied.

John looked at him for a moment. "Oh. Do you like them?" he asked skeptically.

“No, I was lying,” Sherlock said. “I was watching you . . . I wanted to see you again.”

John was a bit taken aback, but he was smiling wide. "Oh, that's great. I was hoping I’d see you again as well."

“That’s funny,” Sherlock said. “Because I had to go to quite a bit of trouble to see you. You, on the other hand, had my phone number on my card. Yet . . .”

John rubbed his neck awkwardly. "I know. I wanted to but got busy. And I wasn’t sure you wanted to see me again. You left so quickly.”

“Wrong,” Sherlock said. “You had an early morning. It was late.” He looked up. “I never said I didn’t want to see you again.”

John shook his head. "I didn't say you had to leave," he countered. "I wanted you to stay the night."

“Well . . . you didn’t make that clear,” Sherlock said. “Thus far that night, I’d thought, we’d each made very clear what we wanted.” 

"Fair enough,” John said, remembering. “But I'd have asked you to leave if I hadn’t wanted you to stay." He smiled. "You can come back tonight if you want to try again."

“Is that what you want?” Sherlock asked.

John moved a little closer and nodded. "Do you?"

“It’s precisely what I want,” Sherlock said, slipping his hand around John’s back.

John leaned up and kissed him. "I have to work though, just for a bit," he said against Sherlock's mouth. 

“Well, that’s not what I want,” Sherlock said. “But I suppose I can wait a little longer.”

John smiled. "Come get a drink with me, help me work."

Sherlock followed. “If working is just watching, I don’t think I can handle that,” he said and then smiled to himself at the irony. Thus far, that was what most of his work had consisted of, but he was working on Lestrade to give him more. In fact, he felt the same way about John. He’d also watched him, but wanted more and not just more of what they’d shared at John’s flat (though he did also want that).

John bought Sherlock a drink and turned to face the stage, looking around at the crowd as the show went on.

Sherlock looked at the band but didn’t watch them. He was tired of watching. He moved a little behind John, standing close and slipping his arm around his body. He took a drink and smiled to himself. After a while, though, Sherlock grew impatient. “How much longer?” he asked, leaning down to whisper in John’s ear.

John shivered and smiled. "Just a few more songs," he said. He turned his head so the words were spoken into Sherlock's jaw. 

Sherlock nuzzled John's lobe and then stepped back. "I'll get us another drink," he said and headed to the bar. When he returned, he handed a glass to John. "The band's not good . . . if you want my opinion for your friend," he said with a smile.

John smiled. "The crowd seems to like it, they are paying attention, enjoying it," he said. He tapped his glass to Sherlock's and took a drink. 

"Surely that means your work here is done," Sherlock said.

"I think if I skip a couple songs it'll be fine," he smiled. "You're quite insatiable."

“I don’t know about that,” Sherlock said. “But I am impatient. I’m tired of watching all those people.” He finished his drink. “Can we go?”

"We can go," John said. He took Sherlock's hand and tugged him through the crowd. 

Sherlock followed John out of the bar, pulling him close as soon as they got out on the street. When a taxi stopped, Sherlock slipped in next to John. “Just so we’re both clear,” he said. “Is staying the night an option?”

"I assumed that was the plan," John said. 

“Perhaps we shouldn’t make any assumptions until we know each other a little longer,” Sherlock said. “So far, you have not been what I’d expected.”

"What did you expect?" John asked, smiling over at him. 

“I assumed we wouldn’t see each other again -- the first time and the next time, too, if I’m honest. Most people are not interested in being around me,” Sherlock admitted.

"It is pretty lucky we met again," John said. 

“No, it wasn’t luck,” Sherlock said. “I wanted to find you, though I wasn’t sure you’d want me to.”

"I did want to," he said. "To find you, to see you again, I mean."

Sherlock didn’t say anything for a minute. “Well, now you have,” he said, reaching over and resting his hand on John’s leg.

John smiled. "I intend to keep doing so."

Sherlock smiled back and then looked out the window. The taxi pulled up in front of John’s, and Sherlock quickly slipped the driver some notes before following John to his door.


	6. Maybe It'll Be Okay

John let them in and immediately remembered the last time, pressing Sherlock against the door. He smiled wider as he faced Sherlock who kissed John roughly as his arms slid up John’s back, pulling him even closer. John moaned into the kiss, and Sherlock pushed back against him, sliding his hands to begin undoing John’s belt. John started moving them towards the bedroom again, keeping as close as he could. Sherlock continued to try to get John's clothes off as they moved and then gave up, starting to take off his own.

John chuckled and started on his own clothes as he led the way. When he got into his bedroom, he was left in his pants. Sherlock was just stepping out of his trousers. John knelt in front of him, running his nose along the hard bulge and gazing up at Sherlock. "Can I?"

"Please," Sherlock said softly, reaching down and dropping his hand on John's shoulder.

John pulled Sherlock's pants down and licked a long stripe along the shaft. He took the head into his mouth before starting to bob slowly. Sherlock let out a low groan as his hand moved from John's shoulder to rest softly at the back of his head. John bobbed steadily, gazing up at Sherlock as he moved. 

Sherlock could feel tension already coiling in his belly. He shifted slightly. "Let's lie down," he said, moving toward the bed.

John stood and moved to the bed with him, admiring his movements. Sherlock immediately reached John's hard cock, kissing him hard as he held a firm grip. Then he began to stroke him as his mouth moved down to John's neck. He pulled John almost on top of him and began rocking his hips against him. "It's good," he moaned, twisting his hand as he nipped against John's neck. John nodded, rolling his hips against Sherlock's. 

"Touch me," Sherlock begged.

John did, reaching down to stroke Sherlock as well, smiling at him. 

“God,” Sherlock exhaled. “I like this . . .”

John nodded. "It feels good . . . you're really sexy . . ."

Sherlock closed his eyes and just let the pleasure take over his mind. He kept his hand moving on John, but his body rocked with John’s hand’s rhythm. “What do you want now?” he asked, finally opening his eyes.

John leaned up and kissed Sherlock's mouth. "To be fucked," he murmured against his lips, repeating Sherlock's words. 

Sherlock’s lips curled into a smile. “All right,” he said. “I still don’t have any condoms,” he added.

"I still have some," John smiled, motioning towards the bedside drawer. 

Sherlock kissed John’s mouth and then moved a bit to reach the drawer, pulling it open and grabbing the box and bottle. He pushed John down onto the bed and crawled over top of him. He grabbed John’s hand and pulled it toward him. “Keep going,” he said.

John kept stroking him as he gazed up at him. Sherlock poured some lube into one hand and shifted down the bed, away from John’s reach. He used his slick hand to stroke between John’s legs and then leaned over, teasing John’s cock with his tongue. He slipped the head of it between his lips and he pressed a finger slowly inside.

"Fuck," John moaned, his back arching as he tried to keep his hips still. His hand slid into Sherlock's hair. 

Sherlock’s mouth moved all over John as he started to pump his finger. He liked John’s reactions -- his own cock ached for release. He slipped in another finger to open John up.

"Sherlock . . . oh God . . ." John moaned, writhing on the bed.

“I’m ready,” Sherlock said, lifting himself upright. “You?”

John nodded. "I am -- I want you."

Sherlock rolled on a condom and slowly pushed in. He dropped down on to John. “Okay?” he mumbled against his mouth.

John's mouth fell open a bit as he nodded. 

“I want you too,” Sherlock mumbled, looking down at him. “This way but other ways, too . . . I want you to come to my flat . . .” He dropped his head to John’s neck as he began to rock his hips slowly.

John nodded, finding his mouth for a deep kiss as his body moved with Sherlock's. Sherlock kissed John as he started to relax into the movement. Then he pushed up on one arm, grabbing John’s hand and leading it to his cock. He bent down and kissed John again.

John stroked himself slowly, moaning as Sherlock moved over him, inside of him. "Oh God..."

“Fuck,” Sherlock moaned at the sight of it. He squeezed his eyes tight and got lost in the sound and movement on the bed.

"You feel so good..." he moaned, moving with Sherlock. 

Sherlock leaned down again, trying to give John enough room, to kiss John’s mouth. “Will you come to my flat?” he asked. His voice was rough as his heart was pounding and his breath uneven.

The odd question -- and rather the odd moment for it -- didn't quite register with John. His brain was clouded with pleasure. Everything about Sherlock felt incredible. He nodded, huffing a 'yes' into Sherlock's jaw before kissing his way to his mouth. 

Sherlock exhaled loudly and then opened his eyes to look into John’s. “I’m going to come soon, okay?” he said before squeezing his eyes shut again.

"Yes . . . m'close too," John moaned. His hand moved faster, matching Sherlock's rhythm. 

Sherlock let his hips go and seconds later he was coming, mumbling and kissing John’s mouth.

John came between them, moaning Sherlock's name over and over as his other hand gripped Sherlock's arm. 

Sherlock dropped down onto John and then shifted, getting rid of the condom, and dropping down next to him. “That was good,” he said softly, rubbing his hand over his face and through his hair.

John nodded. "Incredible," he murmured. 

Sherlock looked over. “And I can stay?” he asked.

"You can stay as long as you like," John said.

“All right,” Sherlock said. He lay back a little. “Do you like me?” he asked awkwardly.

John reached over and touched his hand. "Of course I like you." 

"Just because of that?" Sherlock asked.

"The sex? No," John said. "You're handsome and interesting, smart...I want to get to know more about you."

"Well, maybe," Sherlock said, smiling a little. "What if you don't like what you get to know?"

"Then we just keep having amazing sex," John smiled. He shook his head. "I'm teasing. We'll figure it out."

"I don't like teasing," Sherlock said. "I want to figure it out first."

"We can figure it out first," John said.

Sherlock rolled onto his side. "I'm not always friendly, I often stay up all night, and I am rarely hungry," he said. "Do you think you can handle those things? Think carefully, please."

John pretended to think carefully. "Yeah, I can."

"When I said 'not always friendly' I meant mostly unfriendly -- remember that first night? I'm not very good at talking to people," Sherlock said. "What if you want me to talk to someone?"

"We'll see if it comes up, but you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"I don't want to watch you go see bands all the time," Sherlock said. "But I don't want you to flirt with tall, ginger men if I'm not there."

"You don't have to come with me when I work. And I won't be doing that for too much longer," he said.

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. "All right," he said. "Maybe it'll be okay." He scooted a little closer to John.

John wrapped an arm around him. "I think it will be."

Sherlock was quiet again. Then he softly asked, "Do you think one day you'll come to my flat?" 

John studied Sherlock's face, remembering the question coming up in the middle of sex. "If you'd like me to," he said.

"I think I would," Sherlock said. "We'll see." He snuggled in a little as he was starting to feel sleepy. "Tomorrow, yeah?"

"Okay," John said. "It seems really important to you," he mentioned softly.

Sherlock didn't say anything, just made a little sound. He imagined John in the flat, and it was a nice picture. He'd be the first person Sherlock had let in to his life there. He hoped it would be all right. So far, things had been all right. He squeezed John tighter.


End file.
